


open letter

by myelinsheet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Gen, Letter, Ow the Edge, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Vent Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myelinsheet/pseuds/myelinsheet
Summary: Open letter to the one who was the dim light drowned in my dark thoughts.
Kudos: 1





	open letter

**Author's Note:**

> This has pretty thick triggering depression and desperation themes. Please approach with caution.

I don’t want to burden you.

But I’ve became of this world as a burden.

Maybe I’m being unfair to myself, maybe there was light glimmering through my smiles when I was younger. However, the guilt that traps me if my words are not of truth is too overwhelming to say it is still the case.

I say I’ll speak of truth, yet I try to bury it beneath a grave of flowery language. But if I need to be honest yet again, I don’t feel confident enough in my mind to write it down all verbatim. But I am confident that my story has to come to an end, and this is my closure.

Yes, it’s true. I’ve been feeling that. When I reach out my hands, I can almost feel my fingertips blending into the air. Vanishing. The senses that reside there have left, the command and power I possessed over it have been lifted. I look at my ugly, brutish hands as this feeling spreads to my whole body, engulfs it, consumes it. Then it feels like I’m not there anymore, like my actions won’t have any consequences that relate to me.

Because I don’t feel like me.

It’s akin to watching a movie. A very boring one. This time I'm in the perspective of the actor, I can even choose their decisions. But the problem is that I cannot stop watching this movie. I know it isn’t a movie, but I cannot escape this feeling.

Maybe I don’t want to destroy this movie. Maybe I just want to pause it. But I can’t. And though my soul wants to believe that it gets better, my reason tells me it has been too long of suffering to make any victory out of it worth the pain.

There have been days where I woke up well-rested. Where I was excited for that day, and where it didn’t close its curtains in major disappointment. But the memories fade. And I cannot replace them. Every day I suffer, it doesn’t ever miss. And I cannot continue anymore, knowing that I will suffer.

And I lived for you. So I’ll have to request:

Forget me.

It’s ironic. When I close my eyes, I remember us in the flower field. You always ask me the names of the flowers like I’m a botanist, and I try to answer them as best as I can. I even get a bit nervous, because I want to impress you. Your pride in me was the light that shone in my dark sky. That was what I was thinking when you asked me about those blue flowers. I told you they were my favorites. But I’m asking the opposite of what the name of those flowers dictate.

Forget me.

I can’t ask for forgiveness. I really can’t. Drowning you in such sorrow, just because I’m me and I’m feeling this. It’s not very nice, is it? But please know that all this time I’ve held on, I had nothing to hold on to. My arms flailed in emptiness, clinging to myself with the hope that my will to not upset you would overcome this insecurity. I held on for you. But I cannot anymore. It is too painful.

I tried to hold on for so long. You know me the longest. I tried really hard, I wanted to repay your effort. I’ve done it for so long. But the time only flies away, I’ve waited for my wounds to heal but they’ve started to rot before my eyes. I don’t think there is anything to stop the bleeding.

This is so selfish, too selfish in fact it should be considered an eighth deadly sin. But I have another request:

Don’t think I didn’t try.

I tried my best. I’ve used force, I’ve listened to all the wisdom. I tried everything, but I cannot feel anything else than this despair. Pandora’s box is open, but I cannot find the butterfly inside. I’ve waited for the light at the end of the tunnel, only to realize that I’m at a dead end. What do tomorrows mean if they’re the same as yesterday? The day after? The day before? It all blends into this ugly brown color that my world has become to. My joy isn’t happiness, it is the relief that I can finally be asleep, so I cannot feel this suffering.

So I want you to spare me this relief. I want to sleep forever; I want to feel the only joy I can feel.

Please trust me, it is so hard to live like this. I smile, hoping to be a light for you. But though moths gather around lightbulbs, the lights get turned off eventually. Then the moths can go to a genuine light and follow that, maybe sunlight, a light that will never end. I hope the same happens to you. I hope you find your true light. Maybe the redaction of my fake one will help you find it.

I know it is selfish. I know it is cruel. I would know, I’ve been dealing with this cruel existence for so long. Guilt chains down my heart, but it feels light when I have this pain on top of my shoulders. I’m suffocating, and those who say they understand me do not. If I dare to reach out, I extend my arm to oblivion, the emptiness lingers in my palms. And I cannot dare to reach out to you, as it fills your eyes with diamonds.

Too cruel, I know it is too cruel to inform you about this suffering of mine like this. Hiding it until the bitter end. But can you blame me? My chest feels like being squeezed if the corners of your mouth are slightly down. I couldn’t dare to upset you slightly, and here I am committing a sin I cannot atone for in the afterlife, condemning you to sadness for god knows how long.

And as my ink fades, I hope my memory fades too. I hope this goodbye is forgotten, as I wish I’ve never been born at all.

Do not doubt your light. It shines as bright as the sun. It is just my mind that is a black hole. My final wish is for you to find another star, as bright as you.

I’m sorry.


End file.
